


Always Fine

by ErinPtah



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon Carlos, Canon Compliant, Depression, Episode Tag, Episode: e065 Voicemail, Episode: e068 Faceless Old Women, Episode: e069 Fashion Week, Episode: e070B Review, Friendship, Live Show: The Librarian, M/M, Relationship Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinPtah/pseuds/ErinPtah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil deals with, and/or tries not to acknowledge, the Carlos-related stresses brought up in various episodes. Earl does his best to offer food, friendship, and words of support.</p><p>(Each chapter is a separate vignette; titles indicate which episode they go with.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in the wake of The Librarian

Earl showed up at the door of Cecil's duplex with a casserole and a smile. "Hi, Cecil! I can't stay long, but I thought it might be one of those days where you could use some real food instead of coffee and individually-wrapped pudding cups."

"You are so thoughtful," said Cecil. Even though he _had_ switched over to butterscotch pudding, after Carlos had explained that butterscotch was, scientifically speaking, the most nutritious flavor. He peered at the bubbling concoction under the glass lid. "Wow, you really put the whole ball of wax on that, didn't you?"

"...yes? Cecil, you love paraffin. You used to slather it on everything. It was a running joke in our scout troop."

That didn't sound right. But then, a lot of things Earl said about Cecil didn't sound right. And they'd both been through so much re-education over the years, it wasn't worth fighting over whose memories were more or less altered. "Well, I appreciate it, Earl, I really do. A man cannot live on school-lunch snacks alone, no matter how much science is involved. Can I offer you a drink or something before you go?"

Earl accepted the offer, and they made a little small talk as they headed inside. Turned out Earl had asked around and finally figured out the name of his son — it was [three seconds of muffled droning, followed by an owl screech]. Cecil, meanwhile, had gotten involved in the volunteer cleanup team at the bowling alley, so league night would be going ahead as scheduled.

"You're still bowling, then?"

Cecil scoffed. "What kind of a life would it be, without bowling?"

"It's just that you mentioned not knowing what to do with yourself," said Earl. "On the radio, earlier. I was worried you might have forgotten that you used to have hobbies — you know, bowling, wood-carving, making fun of the moon, that kind of thing."

"Gosh, no. Haven't I given you my Tumblr yet? I think the last two things I posted were a photoset of Khoshekh carvings and this hilarious list of moon jokes."

Earl accepted Cecil's username along with a glass of orange milk. (Cecil was already following Earl, of course. The man reblogged a lot of forbidden information, but at least he had a consistent thought-crime tag, so Cecil could safely filter it out.)

"I just get a little melancholy sometimes talking to Carlos, that's all," continued Cecil, carving himself a slice of the casserole with a hatchet and scooping it onto a plate. "I'm okay the rest of the time. That's normal, isn't it?"

"Sure. Every relationship has its ups and downs," Earl assured him. "It's not like you feel melancholy _every_ time you talk to him, right? You still have fun, still make each other laugh, still find ways to do things for each other that warm your heart and leave you feeling happy and loved."

"Of course!"

"I mean, it's your personal relationship, you have your own private lives. You can't put everything about it on the radio."

Cecil's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? Carlos makes me happy while we're on the radio all the time! He made me happy today! You know, in between the melancholy parts."

"I must have missed it," said Earl sheepishly. "Which part was the happy part?"

"How about the part where he promised he would come home soon? That's always heartwarming! And it happens all the time, on-air and off. I bet you there hasn't been a single week in the past seven months when he hasn't said it multiple times."

Earl's face shifted into a strange, unreadable look.

Cecil didn't like it. "What? What is it now?"

"He didn't...I assumed that was something else you'd worked out by talking in private." Earl glanced at the window, the one with the bush where their secret-police observer was listening, then bent forward and lowered his voice. "You haven't been re-educated in the past few hours, have you?"

"No!"

"Then you should remember that Carlos said he would _see you again_ soon. He didn't mention anything about _home_. I don't want to say anything for sure without going back through the transcripts Intern Beth made before that unfortunate incident with the ice cream truck and the laser pointer, but...." Earl encompassed the space of the duplex with a sweeping gesture. "...I don't remember Carlos referring to this place as _home_ any time since August."

"Well, now you're just being silly," said Cecil, folding his arms. The casserole sat forgotten on the countertop. "Of course Carlos would call this place home. We picked it out together! He was the one who asked if we could move in in the first place! That was before you got back to town, but I played the whole speech on-air — look it up."

"No need. Since finding my way back, I've caught up on everything I'd missed by listening to your broadcasts. You mean the day with the condo sales, right?"

"Yes! So you've heard?"

"And Carlos didn't ask about moving in when you were off the air?"

"Why would he? He'd already asked. I said yes! I don't know how you could've missed that. There were beings from species that do not possess ears who didn't miss it."

"I remember you saying yes," allowed Earl. "But I don't remember him _asking_ if you _wanted_ to move in. I remember him _telling_ you that _he thought it was time_ for you two to move in."

"Earl Harlan, you are splitting hairs in a completely unnecessary way. Carlos asked for my input and opinions on plenty of things, using many different phrasings and grammatical structures. Just because he didn't roll out this one thing with the perfect rhetorical flourishes doesn't mean he didn't care about my opinion!"

"Of course not," said Earl, relaxing. "So in this case it _is_ something that happens in private."

"Exactly!" Cecil was trying to think of an example, but the only specific one that came to mind was when Carlos had asked if he would come visit the otherworld desert. And he had a feeling that would get him another intense, uncomfortable look if he mentioned it and nothing else. "It's our personal relationship. We don't put everything about it on the radio."

"I would assume nothing less!" exclaimed Earl. "Cecil, I'm really sorry, I didn't come here wanting to upset you. You don't have to drag out personal details to convince me of anything. If you say you're fine, I believe you."

"Good," said Cecil. As an afterthought, he added, "And I am."

Earl put his now-empty glass in the sink and nodded to the casserole. "Call me when you're done with the dish and I'll swing by to pick it up, okay?"

"Okay. And thanks again."

"Don't even mention it. And, listen, if you want to hang out some time outside of work...we can grab lunch together, we can go bowling...you could bring your niece to the rec center with me and [three seconds of muffled droning, followed by an owl screech]? The restaurant keeps me pretty busy, so I can't give you a blank check, but we can hammer something out."

"I'd like that," admitted Cecil. Even though he had hobbies, spending long stretches of time with only the Faceless Old Woman in the too-empty duplex that Carlos had...that _he and Carlos_ had picked out _together_...did get tiring sometimes. "What are you doing on league night...?"

Turned out Earl had a shift that night, but was free on Saturday. They made plans to go down to the range together and get some firearms practice, in the name of self-defense against all those menaces that weren't as impervious to bullets as librarians.

After Earl left, Cecil put most of the casserole in the fridge and stared at the lone slice he'd carved away.

He didn't have much of an appetite. And there was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, like maybe he was coming down with something. Still, he hadn't touched any food since lunch, so he should probably at least try to eat some of this.

First, though...he went over to the window.

"Officer?"

"Yes, Mr. Palmer?" asked the secret police officer in his bushes.

"You have searchable transcriptions of all my phone calls since August, right? Even the ones made in private?"

"Of course," said the officer proudly. "We hold our spying on citizens to the highest standards of quality and completeness. Why? Would you like a copy?"

Cecil swallowed.

He looked at his dinner.

He looked at his phone, charging on a corner of the counter. (No new messages.)

He looked at the foyer, where a pair of Carlos's shoes had been sitting, untouched, for nine months and counting.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I would."


	2. coinciding with Voicemail

Roger was a natural at the helicopter-racing game. His little animated helicopter (he picked a different one each time) beat Earl's (Earl always went for the one with the antennae) three times out of four.

"Aw, not again!" exclaimed Earl at the end of the fourth game, when the screen screeched GAME OVER and played the usual animation of the players' faces slowly melting. "Best four out of...."

A polite cough behind him got his attention. Earl turned to see Cecil and his niece, both holding trophies from the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex's prize counter: a plastic anglerfish for Cecil, a rhinestone flower barrette for Janice.

"Oh, geez, we're making people wait for a turn. Better pick this up later," said Earl. "Hi Cecil, hello Janice. Have either of you met my son yet? This is Roger."

Roger raised his eyebrows at Janice's tail, scaled and glossy and tapering into a diaphanous fin. "Why would you want to play a racing game? You can't even work the pedals."

Janice bristled. "Why don't you go up against me before saying that?"

"All right, I will! ...Dad, can I have another dollar?"

As Earl handed Roger the coins and got out of Player 2's seat, Janice dug some quarters out of a pocket in her wheelchair and thrust her barrette at her uncle. "Hold my flower."

Cecil beamed. "Show him up, babe. I got your flower."

The game dinged to life, and the kids immediately got off to a roaring start, while Cecil and Earl watched with glowing pride. As the cartoon helicopters descended into the first canyon, Cecil leaned over and said under his breath, "You found out your son's name? I'm so happy for you!"

"I'm happy for us too," said Earl, sheepish but pleased. "I did tell you already, though. Didn't you get my voicemail?"

"Oh! Um, no. I did not," stammered Cecil. "I left my phone at home yesterday, and have not checked my messages since then. Sorry! You didn't ask for anything time-sensitive in it, did you?"

"C'mon, Cecil, I know better than to do that over an unsecured phone line...."

Earl trailed off as Cecil's pocket started ringing.

And Cecil _tensed_.

Like, visibly tensed. Enough that you didn't need a secret-police mind-scanner or a Body Language Interpretation badge in Scouting to see it. Earl could only think of a few entities that would trigger that kind of apprehension in someone with Cecil's combat skills. "Oh, geez, is that Station Management? Or the City Council? If you need someone to watch Janice, or take her home...."

It would cut into his planned father-son time, but Earl knew that if he were the one in trouble, Cecil wouldn't hesitate to do the same for Roger.

"It's not that. Thank you. But I don't have to leave." Cecil took several deep, calming breaths. "I'm not...going...anywhere."

At last the phone stopped ringing. The arcade game rattled and sparked as the kids, oblivious, used their second-level bonuses to fire missiles at each other.

Earl lowered his voice, so the police officer hiding in the claw game down the aisle wouldn't hear. "Does it have something to do with the whole Lot 37 business? Do you think you're being activated over the phone?"

"Not that either! Well, maybe. But not from that number." Keeping his gaze trained on the kids, Cecil continued in a light, controlled voice: "That was my Carlos ringtone."

Well, knock Earl down with an artichoke. "That was your boyfriend? And you didn't answer?"

"No! No, I did not! I'm having a nice afternoon out with my niece and a nice conversation with my friend, and I am not going to spend another ten months tethered to a phone and prepared to drop everything for him at a moment's notice!"

Earl held up his hands. "Didn't mean to accuse! I'm surprised, that's all. And confused. Surprised and confused."

And concerned, though he didn't know enough to be sure who he was most concerned for. Was Cecil giving Carlos the cold shoulder for some passive-aggressive Cecil reason, and tensing up because he knew deep down that he was being unfair? Or did they have a real, honest, level-footed fight? Or was it Carlos who did something wrong, maybe made fun of Cecil, maybe hurt him, and Cecil was avoiding conversation because he was afraid it would happen again?

"Every time he calls...I get my hopes up," said Cecil slowly. "Will this be the time he's found a way home? Does he have something more than another empty promise that we'll see each other again, by some unspecified method, at some unspecified point in the future? And every time, they get crushed. I can't keep doing this. I need to...consolidate. Space out the heartbreak so it only happens a couple of times a week. Once a day, at most."

"Is that all? That's understandable." And a lot less worrying than some of the hypotheticals that had flashed through Earl's head. He gave Cecil a reassuring smile. "And he was having trouble calling every day anyway, isn't that right? Taking some of the pressure off of him should make it easier on both of you."

"Well," said Cecil.

Earl's smile faded.

(At the game, Roger lost one of his lives in the shark pit, and yelled at the screen as his helicopter regenerated. The yelling included a few words Earl sure didn't teach him. Janice only giggled and banked her own vehicle through the swamp.)

"I've actually...sort of...already told him to call less." Cecil toyed with Janice's barrette, tilting the rhinestones so they reflected the arcade lights. "He got so good at making regular calls, and sure, they were mostly about his work and his research and the things he'd discovered, but I was so anxious to hear his voice that he could have recited the periodic table and it would have made me feel better. Until this Lot 37 thing started. I tried to talk to him about it, and he was so...unhelpful."

"There's probably not a lot he can do," pointed out Earl. There wasn't a lot _Earl_ could do, and he'd come _back_ from his journey to a distant unknown plane of space and/or time.

"I wasn't expecting him to solve it!" exclaimed Cecil. "Although you would think science might be able to shed a little light on the problem, wouldn't you? But I am fine with the fact that it can't. Or at least, I am fine with the _assumption_ that it can't. Carlos did not offer any thoughts or ideas, and I assume that is because he did not have any. Not because he wasn't really listening!"

He took another deep relaxation breath. Earl could almost hear him counting off the beats in his head, the way they'd learned in eighth grade home ec during the interrogation-resistance unit.

"If he couldn't help in any concrete way, I just needed him to listen. To be sympathetic. To say things like 'oh, my poor Cecil' and 'whoever's behind this is the _worst_ ' and 'I'm sure you'll catch them soon'. All he did was turn the conversation back to the latest rock formation he'd been studying. So a couple weeks ago I gave up on trying to get him to talk about my life for half of our calling time, and settled for trying to get him to call half as often."

"...and did it work?"

Cecil's grimace revealed the answer before he admitted it out loud. "That was the third time he's called today."

Earl opened his mouth to say _maybe he's calling more than usual because he's found something._

Then he closed it again. Cecil was the one who'd been living with this situation for months now, and was making a clearly-painful effort to set some boundaries around his time and his expectations, for the sake of his own mental health. The last thing he needed was some well-meaning friend stomping through all his hard work to say _hey, you never know, maybe he's changed! Maybe things will be different this time!_

GAME OVER! screeched the racing game, making both men jump.

Roger's face-melting animation was surrounded by clanging bells, indicating that he'd won. A glance at the numbers, though, told Earl that Janice's score was higher than most of his own. "Okay, okay, you're a worthy opponent," grumbled Roger.

"You bet I am," said Janice. "Wanna play team-on-team? Uncle Cecil knows how to unlock the bonus levels with eldritch architecture."

"Right about now, me and Roger need to grab dinner," cut in Earl. "Race you later?"

Cecil took over the Player 1 seat, and the two of them were starting a new game as Roger and Earl headed out, talking about restaurant choices. Earl could discuss the strengths and weaknesses of Night Vale's various restaurants for hours on end...but he kept an eye on his son's interest level, which started to wane long before his own did, and let the conversation change to the strengths and weaknesses of various Transformers.

And in the back of his mind, he made a note that if he needed to get in touch with Cecil in the near future, he'd do it by email. Or semaphore. Or carrier lizard. Anything that wouldn't involve piling more messages on Cecil's phone.


	3. following Faceless Old Women

Cecil breezed into the café looking refreshed and upbeat, the way he sounded on his first broadcast back. (The parts Earl caught, anyway. He'd been preparing to cater a major celebratory dinner for Josefina Contractors — or was it Strexcorp Operatics? — that night, so he was all over the kitchen, usually yelling, which made it hard to hear much of the news.)

"Looks like someone had a good vacation," said Earl warmly. "You better have pictures."

Neither of them had unlimited leisure time — Cecil had to get to the studio to prep for the night's show, Earl had to pick Roger up from band practice — but they got a couple of fruity drinks and a plate of sweet perfect cinnamon rolls too good for this world, and Cecil propped up his netbook on the table and walked Earl through a slideshow of photos. It looked like Carlos had quite the little settlement going, there in the formerly-featureless desert: an ice cream parlor, a spa, the beginnings of a theme park, high-end apartment buildings on the side of the mountain.

"Hard to believe, huh?" asked Cecil. "A real mountain!"

Earl frowned. He'd been a mountain-nonbeliever once, years ago, but now..."Isn't that the mountain you already climbed when you were in that world before? You mentioned Dana taking you to the top?"

"If you say so," shrugged Cecil. "Let me show you the inside."

Most of the internal photos involved selfies, Cecil and Carlos lounging around Carlos's apartment. These were interspersed with photos of the meals they'd made for each other. Earl was flattered to recognize his own tiramisu recipe.

"It came out a little lopsided," said Cecil sheepishly. "Yours is better."

"Ah, symmetrical food is only important for high-end restaurants and certain kinds of court proceedings," Earl assured him. "The important thing is that it tastes good. Also, that it's made with love and brings people together, because that'll help the dough rise."

Cecil smirked. "There certainly was a lot of rising...dough...involved, I can tell you that."

"You filthy degenerate, you," teased Earl. Not like he hadn't guessed. Some of these photos were absolutely dripping with just-got-laid satisfaction, not to mention the sequence where Carlos and Cecil abruptly switched clothes from one photo to the next. "Seriously, I guess you two really worked things out, huh? It's great to see you happy."

"Worked things...out?"

Earl blinked. "Yes...? The kind of things you were upset about before you left...how Carlos was being evasive about whether he still wanted to come back to Night Vale, and how, even when you'd had a conversation about boundaries, he would run over them...?"

Honestly, that last one had made Earl nervous. Someone who doesn't respect _I need space_ outside of bed is usually not someone you want to get into bed with. But it sounded like the visit had gone beautifully, sex and all. Maybe Carlos was just one of those people who didn't get that you were serious unless you told them something face-to-face? Anyway, Cecil was a strong, self-assured guy...at least, that's how Earl remembered him...so if Carlos ever tried anything _seriously_ violating, Cecil would shut it down. Surely he would.

"Oh, well, obviously Carlos doesn't want to come back here. That desert is where he lives now! It's his home," said Cecil airily. "You don't need to have conversations about things when you're already on the same wavelength. I mean, if he wanted to be here, he would've come back through by the same method I did, which he's known about for, oh, goodness knows how long."

"...As long as you're happy," said Earl. "Hey, I've been dying to know — how did you get back, anyway? And how did Carlos figure that out?"

Cecil didn't answer. He was staring off into the distance, casual smile still on his face.

"Cecil? Did you hear...?"

"Anyway, let's go on to the next set of photos!" exclaimed Cecil, snapping out of it. "Do you still like hiking? Let me show you some of the otherworld hiking trails."

Earl shrugged and went along with it. He did like hiking. And the trails in Cecil's slideshow were so fascinatingly different from the local ones! Sure, they both consisted mostly of dust and rocks with some brush, but the otherworld desert had subtly different _shades_ of dust, rocks, and brush.

At last the string of photos came back to the town, including a tall, pointed building covered in a tarp. Carlos must have been taking the photo, because it was just of Cecil...and, in the background near the building, it looked almost like there was another Cecil. A near-identical man in sunglasses and a shirt with dark stains.

"Oh, wow, Kevin's in this photo!" said Cecil. "That really is him, huh? I didn't even recognize him. Ooh, Earl, guess what this building is?"

"Some kind of...shelter?" guessed Earl. "Is it where the other people from Night Vale are staying?"

"Nope. Try again."

"I've been meaning to ask you about those people, too. Did any of them come back to town along with you?" This time Earl avoided the question of how it happened, not wanting Cecil to shut him down or blank out a second time. "I was thinking, maybe some of them could use a support group. For people who went missing from town for a long time, and were presumed dead, and then came back a year or more later and had to try to adjust to how much things had changed. I was thinking of starting something like that."

"None of them came back with me, Earl," said Cecil impatiently. "I told you that when I showed you the photos of the roller coaster, remember? They've all been trapped there for months, constantly screaming in terror, unable to slow down or get back to solid ground."

"Oh, that sounds like fun! Probably reminds them of home."

"Don't be silly. Night Vale is dangerous and threatening and terrifying. This place was peaceful and serene. Back to the building, all right? It's...a radio station!"

Earl brightened. No wonder Cecil was excited! "Did Carlos make that to surprise you? That's so sweet of him. Was it up and running by the time you got there? What was it like?"

"No, Kevin made it. And Carlos never let me see it while I was there. He only told me what it was when he called me last night. But he says it's for anyone who wants to broadcast!"

That...was a lot less exciting than Earl had been thinking. "The man in the shirt covered with bloodstains made it? And you didn't even get to look around?"

"Those aren't bloodstains, that's just barbecue sauce. Kevin is perfectly nice these days."

"Oh."

"Carlos told me so."

"Do you mean you didn't see that for yourself either...?"

"Are you doubting Carlos's word?"

"I'm a little curious why a man would be walking around covered in sauce stains, yes! I cook a _lot_ , Cecil, and I can still make the effort not to wander the streets covered in the residue."

"Maybe they haven't built a laundromat yet!" Cecil downed the last of his drink in a frustrated gulp. "I did not interrogate Kevin about his wardrobe choices. Carlos didn't let me talk to Kevin — I didn't even realize it was him until we talked about it on the phone last night — but that is not the point, Earl! The point is, that other world was _wonderful_ and relaxing and exciting, and it even has a radio station, which definitely works and was built by a former Strexcorp employee who has definitely been completely rehabilitated, and the fact that Carlos didn't let me confirm any of this for myself and only told me about it after I got back to Night Vale is _nothing_ to be suspicious about! Why should I be suspicious? He made me _omelettes_ and called me _babe_ and did _everything_ I asked him to do, as long as it was what he wanted to do anyway, just like he always has! And it was so peaceful there, except for the constant wars the masked army was running off to fight, and restful, if you ignore the constant screams of terror, and the scenery was _beautiful_ , even the desert dirt was in romantic shades of sunset and mahogany instead of the uninspiring red and brown you get around here! It was better there, Earl! It _was!_ There has to be _some_ place better than Night Vale, some place where, if I just went _there_ , everything would be different and I would be _happy!_ "

Earl's heart ached. "Cecil...."

"Don't touch me!" snapped Cecil, batting away Earl's attempt to put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm fine. I'm _fine!_ "

He snapped the netbook shut, disappearing the image of himself and his mysteriously-stained döppelganger and the mysterious covered building.

"Cecil, wait," implored Earl, as Cecil started packing things back into his bag. "Cecil, please. You're not okay. I've been trying to believe that you are — ignoring it when you sound uncomfortable, not thinking too hard when you say things that don't add up — but you're not! I don't want you to just run off and be alone right now. Please talk to me. Or — if you'd rather talk to someone else — let me walk you there."

"Someone else?" Cecil barked out a laugh as he got to his feet. "Like _who?_ I've been getting unwillingly and maliciously mind-controlled since _January_ and nobody has tried to help. Dana claims she's not responsible, but she hasn't used any of her mayoral powers to try to stop it, has she? You haven't looked into it, Josie hasn't asked her tall friends about it, my own sister hasn't — if there's nobody I can lean on for support with _that_ , who am I supposed to talk to when I'm having a run-of-the-mill bad day?"

He tossed a couple of dubloons on the table for his half of the tip.

"I'm _going_. And I _will_ be fine. Just leave me _alone_."

It sounded like he was choking back tears as he stalked toward the café door, but all Earl could do was stand there, openmouthed and speechless, and watch him go.


	4. the morning of Fashion Week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per canon, Cecil here is seriously depressed to the point of being passively suicidal. If reading that POV would be bad for your headspace right now, please step away from this chapter and go look at something more comforting, such as [cats shaped like loaves](http://catloaves.tumblr.com/).
> 
> ...I'm also going to link the [suicide.org list of helplines](http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html) and the [IASP list of crisis centers](http://www.iasp.info/resources/Crisis_Centres/), because there _are_ people who would care and can help, even if Cecil doesn't see it right now.

Cecil is lying in bed, staring at a blank patch of wall, swamped in a sea of grey.

There are things he should be doing right now. Get out of bed. Shower. Put on fresh clothes. Have breakfast. Go to work.

It's a long list, and it trails at the edge of his awareness, untouched.

He might not have fresh clothes, anyway. He's not sure when he last did laundry. Janice stayed here last week, right? He did some cleaning before Janice came over. Vacuumed, wiped down two of the counters, took the pile of empty takeout containers to the dumpster out back.

Maybe he did more? It's hard to remember.

He remembers feeling good, when she was here. Not for long, but, you know, in flashes. His niece would say something thoughtful and interesting, or would laugh in a way that reminded Cecil of her mom back in the day, and Cecil would get a moment of...warmth. Connection. The kind he hadn't had for years, not since he and Abby had their falling-out, since she became a person he only tolerated because she was family and it was required.

During the rest of Janice's visit, Cecil still felt lonely and sad and disconnected, you know, average. He put on _Cat Ballou_ the way he would have if Carlos was there, and Janice watched it with him the first time through, but she wasn't Carlos and he couldn't use her to fill the Carlos-shaped hole in his heart, so he didn't make her watch it five times in a row.

He watched the next four times on his own, until the scenes ran together into a comforting slurry and he fell asleep on the couch.

He's still not sure what Janice did for the rest of that evening, but she didn't get hurt or anything, so it's fine, right? It's fine.

He breathes.

The sheets under him are vaguely stale.

He slept in his clothes yesterday. He's still wearing them now, casual and wrinkled. They might be stale too.

He should get up and shower.

He should get up.

He should care what he wears. Even if he hasn't cared in a long time, even if how he looks is pointless and meaningless in general, today is the start of Fashion Week. Snappy dressing is the only way to avoid getting ingested by the Sphere, and he doesn't want that.

Right?

He's not _supposed_ to want that, anyway.

But what does it matter what Cecil wants? He can't change anything. If his life wants to be unbearable, he is utterly powerless to stop it.

He remembers, a year ago, feeling like he had power. The memories of that final showdown against Strexcorp are tinged with vague senses of hope and anticipation, determination and caring, togetherness and triumph. He had been part of a movement, they had wanted change, they had worked together and they had _gotten_ it.

But in the process Carlos had been stranded in another dimension, and Cecil was powerless to reach him.

Then months had gone by with Carlos failing to look for a way home, and Cecil helpless to make him. Oh, Cecil could get Carlos to _promise_ to look! Carlos would repeat that promise whenever the topic came up. But all Cecil's pleading and cajoling could do nothing to make Carlos _keep_ that promise.

Then, most horrifying of all, someone had started overwriting Cecil's will and controlling his body. Without his knowledge, consent, or memory. And there was nothing, nothing at all, that Cecil could do to stop them. (Did he even try? Was he still so hopeful, so foolish, as to make an effort? He can't recall.)

For a while he had been sure the perpetrator was Dana. Now...maybe he wasn't so sure. But whether it was her or not, she had some responsibility, right? Nobody would have to puppet Cecil to protect her if she could just protect herself. So it was her fault either way.

There. A flash of indignation. Cecil still gets those, sometimes.

Mostly the thought of his mysterious tormentor just made him feel hurt and violated and terrified, back when he still felt things. You can't get through the day if you're in a constant state of acute, helpless terror, so he started going numb to it. Then he started going numb to everything.

There was a point when he thought Carlos could help him deal with the feelings. When Cecil tried to talk about it, though, Carlos shrugged it off with a _huh, that's interesting_ before changing the subject to a neat creek he'd been studying in the otherworld.

Cecil didn't push for more. He didn't have the emotional stamina to get his hopes up for Carlos promising to listen and be supportive, only to have Carlos fail at that too. He just asked Carlos to call less, because he definitely didn't have the stamina to be constantly attentive and supportive toward Carlos's work while dealing with his own problems alone.

Carlos promised to call less.

Carlos didn't stop filling up his voicemail inbox.

At least Cecil finally slid into total emotional shutdown, so he didn't have to be bothered by anything Carlos did.

But he can't stay in total emotional shutdown today, because...because the Sphere is coming to ingest the un-hip, and...and it would be bad if....

Would it be bad, though, really?

If it's going to kill him, why would he have the power to stop it? Is there any point in trying?

 _The people who love you wouldn't want you to die._ It's a phrase Cecil heard somewhere. It sounds awfully nice. But the people who love _Cecil_ have been no help at all in protecting him from months of malicious violation, so who's to say they wouldn't find it easier just to have him gone?

Would Carlos even react? Cecil can hear the voicemail now: _Hi, honey! Heard you got messily devoured today? Sorry I missed you. Anyway, I found some fascinating rocks this morning...._

Janice would be hurt. But Cecil is her uncle, not her father. She has two loving parents, which is already more than Cecil himself grew up with, and he has to acknowledge that both of hers are reasonably competent. She'd survive.

All of which is to say....

He laughs out loud. It's the first sound he's made in the hours he's been lying here.

He _doesn't care_.

Cecil Palmer does not give a fuck whether he lives or dies.

The realization is so clear, and so _freeing_. It means he doesn't have to be afraid. Of _anything_.

He gets out of bed. But he's not going to shower, or change out of these clothes, or force himself to choke down any of the unappetizing sludge in his fridge. He'll go to work, because he _always_ goes to work, but he is not going to waste what little energy he has these days on putting _effort_ into it. And if he dies, well! That'll just be what happened to him. At least he'll be wearing comfortable clothes!

And if the Sphere spares him? Then Cecil is getting the fuck out of this town.

No more dithering about the desert otherworld. No second-guessing whether the masked army's never-ending wars and the roller coaster with its endlessly screaming victims are really better than Night Vale's various horrors. No more imploring Carlos to do...well, _anything_. He'd been thinking about trying to make the move conditional, _I'll come live with you if you promise not to hide important things from me again_ or whatever, but honestly, what's the point? He doesn't care if he _dies_ , so why should he care if his boyfriend is unreliable or unsupportive or deceptive or anything else? Any version of living with Carlos will be nicer than death! For example, sometimes there will be omelettes!

He'll even agree to work at Kevin's radio station, in spite of the bloody decoration. And the lack of salary. And the lack of listeners. Maybe someday more than three people in that dimension will have radio receivers! And maybe Kevin can keep his Strex programming controlled to a reasonable level indefinitely.

Or maybe one day they'll be doing a pledge drive and Kevin will end it by disemboweling Cecil and distributing his organs in station-branded tote bags.

Who cares?

Not Cecil!

His face has settled into a wide grin, wide enough that someone seeing him from a distance could probably think he _was_ Kevin. It's like all the weight has lifted from his shoulders at once. No matter what happens, it'll be fine.

It'll be just fine.


	5. out to dinner after Review

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of this story. A reaction to the end of the canon arc seems like the right place to stop. (And no matter what happens next in the podcast, I'm going to try not to get stressed-out enough about it to write a sequel.)

Cecil's reservation at Tourniquet had finally come up. Earl may have quietly pulled a few strings behind-the-scenes, to make it a table for two. He pulled a few more strings to duck out of the kitchen and bring them their complimentary water and rice buns.

Cecil was alone in one of the two seats when Earl approached. He looked up, started, turned away, blushed, and glanced shyly back. "Earl...hi."

"Hey," said Earl. Cautious. Careful not to overstep. "You're looking better."

"I am. Better." Cecil swallowed. "I'm sorry. What I said — when I yelled at you — I was in such a bad place, and I took it out on you, and you didn't deserve that."

"No, you were right! I should have tried to help you. A lot of us should have."

"Well, it all worked out in the end, right?" said Cecil hopefully. "I own myself again. Even had a nice heart-to-heart with Violet along the way, came to understand a little bit about where he was coming from. So whatever happened along the way, it doesn't matter anymore. Water under the bridge. Friends?"

Earl squeezed his hand. "Friends."

Cecil really did look better. Fancy tunic, neatly-brushed hair, none of the haunting strain that had showed in his eyes and weighed down his shoulders the last time he and Earl had talked.

"Speaking of heart-to-hearts," added Earl. "Your boyfriend's back?"

"That's right."

"And you talked?"

"We talked. About...a lot of things." Cecil fiddled with his napkin ring. "He really didn't get that Kevin was covered with blood, you know? He just assumed it was barbecue sauce. He's kind of oblivious sometimes."

Earl let out a sardonic noise under his breath. He couldn't help it.

"Not all the time!" added Cecil quickly. "He figured out that I didn't really want to move, that I was just too depressed to remember how much all the other people I love mean to me, even before I did. And he'd known for a while, before then, that I wasn't okay. That's why he ended up calling so much, remember? Even after I asked him not to...he thought that was a symptom, me pulling away from him along with everything else. He was scared, and he hadn't found a way for us to visit yet, so he didn't know what else to do."

"I can understand that," said Earl, and meant it.

There were still things he didn't understand. Why their only vacation options had been Cecil visiting the otherworld desert, not vice versa, even though by the end returning to Night Vale had apparently been so easy for both of them that it wasn't worth mentioning. Why Carlos had shown up when he did — true, it was after Cecil's Lot 37 nightmare had ended, but so quickly that he couldn't have been responding to Cecil sending him the good news. Why....

But as long as the two of them were having real conversations, they could deal with any issues between themselves. Earl was just glad they had pulled out of whatever spiral of...denial? avoidance? fear? all of the above?...they'd been in when they last spoke face-to-face. Glad Cecil no longer sounded jumpy and unconvinced when he insisted on his boyfriend's support.

As if reading his mind, Cecil teased, "You're not going to second-guess it? Point out some line I mentioned him saying on a broadcast last year that doesn't line up with what he's saying now? Ask awkward questions that somehow make our whole relationship sound vaguely sinister?"

Earl swatted his arm with a menu. "Cecil...! You make it sound like I was trying to start a blood feud with the guy. I was concerned about you, that's all!"

"I know, I know!" laughed Cecil. Sobering, he added: "He messed some things up. He knows that. And I...it wasn't just you, I was scared too. Didn't even want to ask those questions, because I was afraid of what the answers might be. So I messed things up too, not being direct enough or confronting him when I should have."

"But you're confronting him now."

"That's right."

"Then I'm sure you can work this out," said Earl. "You've shown that you're willing to make a special effort for him — to go through difficult times, even to give things up. And now he's shown that he's willing to make an effort for you."

A smile settled onto Cecil's face. "Yeah."

"He might not have had family to leave behind in the otherworld, but he had supportive friends, and that's not nothing. Even if he's able to do other science here in Night Vale, he had a year's worth of research over there, and he put those projects aside for the sake of your relationship."

Cecil blinked. "...Yes. I mean, maybe not Kevin, but other supportive friends, yeah. Definitely not hostile or aggravating at the end there. And yes, lots of research! Many detailed notes. Lots of computer models. All extremely scientific."

"Well, there you go! He might not be great at expressing himself with words all the time, but when you look at how much work he was willing to let go, that _shows_ how much you mean to him."

Cecil's eyes darted towards Tourniquet's front doors.

"Is he here now?" Earl followed his gaze. No sign of a lab coat, no flash of perfect hair. "I don't want to hover while you two are saying hi. You'll have a normal waiter for the rest of the night, too, while I get back to the kitchen."

"You can go back now, if you need to!" exclaimed Cecil. "Don't let me hold you up. He might be a little late. He's late for things sometimes. It doesn't upset me. It's just how he is. Go ahead, I'll be fine."

"All right, all right." Might as well give the table some extra privacy. "Now that you're staying on the show, you'll do another cooking segment, right? I wasn't sure if your successor was into those. I wasn't sure who your successor was going to be, frankly."

"Neither did I," said Cecil, with a self-conscious laugh. "I don't think Management picked one out. I think they, too, had some insider knowledge that I wouldn't really leave. Lucky me, right? Otherwise they probably would've eaten me when I pleaded to be allowed to stay on, thirteen days after giving my two weeks' notice. On top of having to move apartments because I'd told the landlord our old one would be free...but the point! The point is, once that chaos has died down, yes, I'll have you back on for a cooking segment. Got it? Great. Now shoo."

Earl rolled his eyes, said a fond goodbye, and headed for the kitchen. Still didn't see Carlos up front, but Cecil seemed peacefully resigned to the idea of him being late. And it wasn't like he was going to hit a roadblock on the way to Tourniquet, study the traffic cones for six months without ever looking for a detour, then call Cecil to ask if they could eat somewhere else. For all that Earl had never expected his first disappearance to play out like it did, he seemed to have learned from his mistakes, to be making an effort to change.

Cecil was right, Earl thought.

He would be fine.


End file.
